


In the Details

by effing_gravity (Malteaser)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Crack, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, ambiguous timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 14:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malteaser/pseuds/effing_gravity
Summary: One night, an old flame of Lucifer's walks into the Lux.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Past Relationships - Relationship, Surprise relationships
Comments: 10
Kudos: 155





	In the Details

It was night at Lux. Not particularly busy, not particularly slow, considering that it was 10pm on a Tuesday night. There were enough people on the floor to give it a certain energy, but not enough that it was hard to see the whole of the place. 

For example, despite being upstairs from the main floor, Lucifer currently had a great view of the bar. And even if he hadn’t had a good view of the bar, he probably would have noticed the man who had just sat down at it. It was hard not to- he stuck out like a sore thumb.

He was also, Lucifer was pretty certain after a few moments of quiet observation, someone he’d known well over a hundred years ago. That should not have been possible.

It also shouldn’t have been possible for the man to get himself a full bottle of one of his finest single-malt whiskeys within two minutes of sitting down, but he’d done that too. 

Well. He wasn’t going to get any answers standing at a distance. He took his time, curious to see what the other man’s reaction would be to catching sight of him. He wasn’t disappointed. The moment his eyes alighted on Lucifer they went comically wide and he dropped his glass on the floor in shock. 

“Azariah Fell?” Lucifer asked. “Or do you still use Azalea for club purposes?”

The other man’s mouth worked silently for a long moment. Then he tried to drink from the glass that was now shattered on the floor. 

That seemed to snap him out of it. “No,” he said finally. “Neither, I mean. No one expects you to take on a feminine name and dress in full drag as a matter of course these days, and Azariah got to be a little _too_ old fashioned. I’m not looking to have small talk about how unusual my name is, so I switched to Ezra a century or so ago.”

He wasn’t even pretending to deny it. That was interesting. “Well, I’m still Lucifer Morningstar.”

Fell giggled nervously. “Good Lord, you’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”

“I never lie!” Lucifer protested. “I’m not sure where people got the idea that I’m a liar.”

“Chalk it up to Heavenly propaganda then, I suppose,” Fell said, waving his hand. The glass of whiskey reassembled itself in his hand, miraculously unshattered and unspilled. Lucifer stared at it as Fell knocked it back. [[1](%E2%80%9D#note1%E2%80%9D)]

“Aziraphale!”

“Well, this is going to be a fun conversation,” Fell muttered as another man came rushing up to them. Unlike Fell, he blended in with the crowd that frequented Lux in his dark, fashionable clothing. He had a sort of aged rock star air about him that was pretty standard for a middle-aged man in LA. It meant that Lucifer hadn’t recognized him, even though he should have. 

“Crowley?” Lucifer asked. 

The demon ignored him in favor of Fell. “Angel, that’s _actually_ Lucifer.”

“Yes, I know that. Now,” Fell said, sounding very put out about it. 

“Wait, you’re an _angel_?” Lucifer demanded. 

“You didn’t know?” Fell asked.

“No! Absolutely nothing about you gave me the slightest indication that you were an angel!” Lucifer protested. 

“What.” Crowley said. 

Fell seemed to consider being insulted before giving up on it. “Well, good. I feel like much less of an idiot now,” Fell said, pouring out another glass. He held it out to Crowley, who didn’t notice it. 

“If I’d known I would have walked out of the club and tried my luck at some time when you weren’t there,” Lucifer continued. “The whole point of those little jaunts was to keep out of Hell for a while, I couldn’t do that if- I’m sorry, which one were you again?”

“Aziraphale,” the angel said. “Principality of the Eastern Gate.”

“Well, I definitely couldn’t do that if one of the original guardians of Eden was on my tail,” Lucifer said. “Bloody hell, is that why Amenadiel caught up with me so quickly that time?”

Crowley raised his hand. “What?” 

“Nothing to do with me,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I did _not_ send reports about that sort of thing up to Heaven. Things went much smoother when they were under the impression that I had no personal life.”

“Past tense?” Lucifer noticed. 

“I haven’t Fallen, but Heaven and I have split ways,” Aziraphale told him. 

“How did you manage that?” Lucifer asked. 

Crowley’s hand was still in the air. “Am I having a stroke?” he asked. 

“You remember the conversation we had when we decided to come here?” Aziraphale asked him. “Well, you were quite right: everyone sleeps with Lucifer.”

“WHAT?!”

~*~

_Earlier…_

Crowley had been laughing sporadically for twenty minutes, and while his laughter was not at all forced, he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t doing it at least in part to annoy Aziraphale into paying attention to him. 

He was rewarded when Aziraphale folded up his dead-tree copy of _The Times_[2](%E2%80%9D#note2%E2%80%9D) with a huff and said “Really, dear, what is it that has you in such hysterics?”

“I’m currently on Yelp,” Crowley began. 

“Please tell you’re not leaving positive reviews of my shop,” Aziraphale begged. 

“Would I do that to you?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. 

“Now that I live there too?” Crowley amended quickly. 

Aziraphale conceded the point with a nod. 

“Anyway, I’m actually looking at local stuff, seeing as we have this ridiculous two-day layover,” Crowley said. “I thought it might be nice to get out for a bit.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “I thought we might just stay in.” Under the covers, his bare leg pressed against Crowley’s. “Order room service, you know?”

“And we could absolutely do that,” Crowley said. “But we could also go out, which is why I was looking at Yelp, which is why I stumbled across _this_.”

He held out his phone dramatically. Aziraphale squinted at it. 

“It’s a nightclub,” he said at last. 

“Yeah, but,” Crowley fiddled with the phone for a bit before holding it out to Aziraphale again. “Look at what the owner is named.”

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale said. “That cannot possibly be his real name.”

“Common reaction, apparently,” Crowley said, scrolling up a bit. “Take a look at the first question.”

“_The owner’s name isn’t actually Lucifer Morningstar, is it?_” Aziraphale read aloud. “_Answer: Yes, it bloody well is. If you must know, Lucifer is a name given to me by my father (God) and Morningstar was originally more of a nickname. I have since adapted it to be part of my full legal name. If you require further proof you may direct your inquiries to the LAPD, where I also work as a civilian consultant, and-_ Oh my God.” 

“In case you were wondering, the second question is _Your name is Lucifer Morningstar and you work for the cops?_ and the answer is just _Yes_,” Crowley said. 

“That is awful,” Aziraphale said, not quite managing to not giggle. 

“Terrible,” Crowley agreed with a grin. “I know it’s not really your kind of place, but the Lux does have a really good drinks selection and it certainly sounds like a good place to play strangers at a bar?”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked. He certainly didn’t look disinterested.

“Yeah,” Crowley said with a laugh. “Apparently, the owner knows how to set the mood,” he went back to the review selection, and found the thread that was a couple dozen people who had been called in to talk to the LAPD about the night they slept with the owner, and several more reasonable people asking _What the fuck?_ “I don’t know who he thinks he is, but if he’s aiming for Lucifer he’s definitely got the libido down.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, startled. 

“Lucifer was always very… charming,” Crowley said. “And he knew it, and so did _everyone_ else.”

“Are you- are you saying that you slept with Lucifer?” Aziraphale asked. “The actual one, not the nightclub owner?”

Crowley hadn’t been saying anything of the kind, but couldn’t quite bring himself to lie to Aziraphale now that he’d been asked. “A few times, before the Rebellion. It’s not that big a deal. It was practically part of the Rebel Angel Recruitment Drive. When I say everyone knew how charming he was, I mean literally everyone who wasn’t a part of that Archangelic family got a firsthand demonstration of that.”

“Well, this is the first I’m hearing about it,” Aziraphale said, frowning down at the phone. For a moment, Crowley was sure that he’d been put off the idea, but then he said. “Can you pull up the drinks menu for me?”

Crowley pulled up the drinks menu, watching Aziraphale’s eyes alight on the knowledge that the Lux had a bottle of Black Bowmore 50, price available upon request. He allowed himself a little smirk while Aziraphale was distracted- he’d known that would be a cincher. 

“Strangers at a bar, you said?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I was thinking that you could play a well-off gentleman who picked up little old me to give me a taste of the high life,” Crowley said. “I would be appropriately grateful, of course.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale echoes. “Well, I do love a bit of playacting.”

Aziraphale was a terrible actor under most circumstances, but he was always an enthusiastic one, which is what counted for this sort of thing. 

“So, you’ll let me tempt you?” Crowley asked. 

“From the sound of things, I would be doing the tempting,” Aziraphale pointed out with a sly little smile. 

“You have gotten good at that,” Crowley agreed. 

~*~

_Quite a bit earlier than that…_

Aziraphale was not having a great day, something which had less to do with the day itself and more to do with the several days preceding this one- with nearly two months’ worth of days preceding this one, if he was being honest. He could have done without everything from April the third on, to be even more honest. 

It was, presently, the twenty-sixth of May, and it was not a great day at all. He’d hoped that the gentlemen of his club might offer some distraction, but that had proved to be in vain, and he cursed himself for a fool for believing that it might be otherwise when everyone here had the same rotten couple of months. They’d all come together here for the very same reason, after all, and it was for that very same reason that Oscar Wilde was now in Newgate Prison. 

He might have left, but he was an angel, and he was surrounded by people who were hurting and in need of solace. He had a duty of care here. [ 3 ](%E2%80%9C#note3%E2%80%9D)

“So he flitted around: there was makeup to be fixed, bodices to lace, tears that needed crying out onto his shoulder, staff who found themselves unable to follow through with the reality of the situation and needed to be slipped a few shillings and pointed in the direction of a quiet corner to wait until the closing call, and lonely hearts that could be nudged towards one another. [ 4](%E2%80%9C#note4%E2%80%9D) And then because there was a lot of drinking, anger and anxiety, there were arguments to defuse before they could become fights- though, knowing these men as he did, Aziraphale was sure they would prefer the term duels. 

He had just settled one such argument when he could hear shouting start up from across the room. 

_Oh bother,_ Aziraphale thought, but by the time he’d turned around the fight was already being defused by someone else. 

It was someone he didn’t recognize, so he drew closer. One couldn’t be too careful in such times, after all. 

“Come now,” the stranger was saying. “Is this what you truly want?”

“No,” replied the woman who had been shouting. She normally went by Enola, or so Aziraphale thought. “I want… to tell my wife that she has a wife, sometimes. I want to wear these clothes around the house. I want to stop being afraid.”

“Well then, perhaps you should talk with your wife?” the stranger suggested. 

“She wouldn’t understand.”

“Are you sure? Come now, take a look around you. Do you honestly believe everyone here is a depraved _man_?”

The words left a mark. So did the clap of the stranger’s hand on the woman’s shoulders.

“Why don’t you go talk with your wife, then? Perhaps she’ll surprise you.”

“Yes. Yes, maybe I should.” She left. Aziraphale, who knew something of her home life, let her go.[ 5](%E2%80%9C#note5%E2%80%9D)

“Thank you,” he said to the stranger. “I’ve been breaking up fights all night long. It’s nice not to have to deal with all of them.”

“Think nothing of it,” the stranger replied. “The mood here is low enough as it is.”

“That’s certainly true.” 

Aziraphale took a moment to appraise the stranger. He was tall, and there was something about his insouciant bearing which screamed that he had a gentleman’s income, though not a gentleman’s manners.[ 6](%E2%80%9C#note6%E2%80%9D) He was dressed richly in a beautiful midnight blue gown which had clearly been made to order. Aziraphale, who had donned a riding habit for the ability to wear trousers without breaking the dress code, felt distinctly underdressed. 

“I’m Azalea,” he introduced himself, offering his hand. 

“Lucifer,” said the stranger as he took it. “Morningstar.” 

Too shocked to either take his hand back or to shake the one that had been offered to him, Aziraphale merely stood there and laughed.

“Though you can call me Lucinda if it makes you feel more comfortable,” Lucifer added. 

He knew who this was, now. He’d cut a bit of a swath here, some years ago while Aziraphale had been busy in the Americas, but Oscar had told him all about it upon his return. No one new and alarming, then. Just a man who had taken the idea that they were all damned for their desires a bit farther than most.

“Goodness me,” Aziraphale said, once he’d caught his breath. “Thank you. I needed that laugh.”

It seemed only right that he press a kiss to the back of this Lucifer’s hand before letting it drop.

“My pleasure,” Lucifer replied. “Perhaps you could do me a favor in turn and tell me what’s happened here? The crowd is much thinner than I remember it being, and everyone who is here looks like they’re at a funeral.”

“Have you not heard?” Aziraphale asked, shocked.

“No, I’ve just popped back up from Hell,” Lucifer replied. “I haven’t had a chance to catch up on the news.”

“It’s Salome, I’m afraid. The original one,” Aziraphale told him. “He was found guilty on charges of gross indecency yesterday, and taken to prison directly.”

“Oh no,” Lucifer replied. “Oscar?”

It was beyond passe to use anyone’s real names, but then again, it wasn’t as though everyone didn’t know by now. 

“The very same,” Aziraphale replied. “They gave him the maximum sentence. Two years.”

“Well,” Lucifer said, clearly trying to rally. “Two years… that’s not forever.”

“It’s two year’s _hard labor_. The man was hardly one of the fusiliers,” Aziraphale snapped. “Even if he was, it’s the sort of thing that’s designed to break a man’s health.” He took a deep breath, and said, more calmly. “Everyone who could left for France last month. The rest of us are all left wondering if, well.”

“If you might be next?” Lucifer suggested. 

“Just so,” Aziraphale replied. 

It was different for him, of course. Being found out wouldn’t mean prison, it would mean Heaven. Or, possibly, both: Gabriel had been quite clear that if he couldn’t maintain some objectivity then he could certainly be made to suffer the consequences like one of the humans he was paying such close attention to. 

Of course, Gabriel didn’t know the whole of it. He barely knew a fraction of it- just that Aziraphale had sowed a bit of doubt and delivered a temporary reprieve in the form of a hung jury. He’d been so pleased with himself too- it had been such delicate work, and he was sure he would be able to do it better next time- and then he’d come home to an angry Archangel who’d wanted an explanation for the not-very-angelic miracles he’d performed. 

Aziraphale still wasn’t sure what had gone wrong there. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t done plenty of downright demonic miracles at this point, and Heaven had never taken any notice before. He supposed that he’d always been able to blame interference from Crowley, who was always at least _meant_ to be in the same place. The demon must be somewhere else right now, and taken whatever camouflage his presence provided with him.

It was probably for the best that he was gone from London. Gabriel had insisted on staying with him until the trial concluded, just in case he should try to interfere, and the thought of running into Crowley while he had Gabriel in tow was a frightful thing, even though he was not presently on speaking terms with the demon.[ 7](%E2%80%9C#note7%E2%80%9D)

It was why he hadn’t used any miracles tonight. Gabriel might no longer be on Earth, but he had no doubt that his expense reports were going to be closely monitored for a long while yet. The less attention he drew to his club the better off he- and they- would be. 

He probably should have stayed away entirely, but he knew he wasn’t going to. He needed the companionship, furtive and secretive as it was. 

“Well, how perfectly awful,” Lucifer said, taking two drinks off the tray of a passing waiter. He passed on to Aziraphale, and tossed his own back. 

“Cheers,” Aziraphale said as he did the same. 

It was past midnight by that point, and time continued to march forwards as they got to talking. This was normally the time when Aziraphale would take his leave. Lights out came at two, and there were certain expectations that came at that hour. 

Even when he did stay, he generally stayed with a friend. He didn’t understand the appeal of having sex with someone with whom you were not on friendly terms with, which he understood placed him in the minority. So many of the members of this club carried on not only with the staff engaged here, but with telegram boys and all manner of rough trade picked up from the street. 

Aziraphale didn’t understand it, not in the slightest. But he did understand the need to take a step back and be someone else for a time. He wasn’t here as Aziraphale, really: he was here as Azariah Fell, alias Azalea, and he rather thought after the past couple of months he was due a little out-of-character indulgence. 

Besides, Lucifer seemed agreeable enough. And he did come _highly_ recommended. 

“Will you be staying?” Lucifer asked as the clock struck quarter to.

“You know, I think I just might,” Aziraphale replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Up until this point, Lucifer had been thinking that this was a matter of a normal human immortal, for whatever value that phrase may have. But normal human immortals did not have the power to reassemble shattered glass with a thought, so that was right out. [[ return to text](%E2%80%9C#return1%E2%80%9D)]
> 
> 2 The copy of _The Times_ in question had been destined for a pensioner’s doorstep, and was more than a little alarmed to find itself on the other side of the world with two man-shaped beings who seemed determined to canoodle at every opportunity. [[ return to text](%E2%80%9C#return2%E2%80%9D)]
> 
> 3 Also, the thought of returning to his bookshop to be alone was, presently, quite intolerable.[[ return to text](%E2%80%9C#return3%E2%80%9D)]
> 
> 4 In a few years, Polari would begin to be something on a cryptolect amongst the queer community of London, and people from that community would begin to look at Aziraphale and automatically think “Auntie” in much the same way a straight person would look at him and think “gay”, or any citizen of the world might look at him and think “English”. Some things are only ineffable until someone comes up with a word to express them, after all. [[ return to text](%E2%80%9C#return4%E2%80%9D)]
> 
> 5 Enola’s wife was, at that very moment, dressed in her spouse’s suit, and playing doctor to one of her female companions. This was not an uncommon occurrence, and she was noted in certain circles as being particularly good at administering hysterical paroxysms. While this wouldn’t have been Aziraphale’s first guess as to her activities, the truth would not have surprised him in the least. [[ return to text](%E2%80%9C#return5%E2%80%9D)]
> 
> 6 These were also terms which could have been used to describe Oscar, and a great many of the lovers Aziraphale had had over the centuries. The fact that he had a type- and that the type was essentially people who reminded him of Crowley- was not something he felt keen to examine at this time.[[ return to text](%E2%80%9C#return6%E2%80%9D)]
> 
> 7 Aziraphale had also kept his distance from his human friends during the retrial, which is why he didn’t learn until later that Oscar might have made his own escape to France during this time. Torn between the need to fight and the need to run so he might live to fight another day, indecision made the choice for him when the appointed train left the station without him, at the cost of his freedom, his health, and ultimately his life. Aziraphale would think about that a lot, particularly during the eleven year period of his life when he was quite certain that the world was due to end shortly. [[ return to text](%E2%80%9C#return7%E2%80%9D)]

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever distract yourself from your Big Bang by writing crack based on the premise of two fictional characters being in the same circle of fucking as Oscar Wilde, because apparently I do.


End file.
